


Crimson

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Series: Smol Dragon Barry 'verse [9]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dragons, Fever, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Leonard Snart is Not a Good Person, Mild Gore, Past Child Abuse, Platonic Cuddling, Soul Bond, but he's Okay with that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 03:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6639304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Barry and Len's bond is forged, Lewis comes around looking for something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crimson

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlueStar1937](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueStar1937/gifts).



> This is gonna have a heavy load of angst and gore.

Although Len would actually like to, he doesn’t take Barry everywhere. This applies especially when one of his previous charges needs a trustworthy set of human hands but doesn’t have a rider to assist. Superspeed or not, Barry’s just as susceptible to that possessive nature shared among dragons.

Hartley does a light shimmying motion, unused to a saddle after so long without one. When he sees Len’s smirk, he huffs and straightens into a regal stance, snapping, “Are you ready yet?”

“No need to lose your cool,” Len replies, strapping on his gloves, “unless you want a tiny ball of lightning electrocuting you outta the air, I’d sit tight for another minute.”

“And _I_ would hurry up. That delivery’s not waiting forever.”

By Len’s calculations, they’ll beat the arrival of Hartley’s ordered parts by a good half hour. So, just for that comment, Len makes sure to take his time double-checking his riding gear before calling Barry.

Barry blinks when he sees Hartley’s rigging; that confusion quickly dissolves into an angry pout---an amazing feat for a draconic face.

“Where are you going?” he demands, purposely draping himself over Len’s shoulders as if that will keep his handler’s feet on the ground.

Len has to tug at him a few times before Barry makes a disgruntled noise and unhooks his talons from his shoulder pads. As he usually does when he wants to either annoy him or get something through his tiny skull, Len holds Barry from underneath what counts as his armpits. Barry scowls.

“It’s just a trip to the docks,” Len says, drawing out the words to make his dragon squirm a little, glare deepening in the sought-for annoyance. “No need to get all sparky about it.”

For Barry has started sparking. He’s keeping his voltage and vibrations down so Len doesn’t get burned or blistered, but it’s enough to make Len’s smirk widen.

“Off you go,” says the handler, “you’re due for a cow.” When Barry squirms again, this time in reluctance, “How about this: if we’re not back in two hours, you can come _speeding_ to my rescue. Deal?”

Barry’s eyes narrow. “Central docks?”

“Central docks.”

“... _fine_.” Barry pushes up, Len releasing him before cupping his hands. The dragon lands on his palms, and together they get Barry in the air.

"How cute," Hartley drawls, "but can you get moving now?"

Len stretches. "You didn't tell me what you're using those parts for."

" _Leonard Snart._ "

* * *

Len nearly forgot how good it was to lean on Hartley. The dragon's a Sonic ( _"if you make one more hedgehog joke, Walker, I will fucking—"_ ), but when he's not using his waves, his system's got a naturally cool temperature, a refreshing change to most of the dragons Len's come across. Hartley says it's because his body needs a way to cool down fast after reaching his sonic waves' maximum potential.

Hartley allows Len to settle against his side, lifting a wing to make more room. For all their belligerent exchanges, their bond runs deeper than one would expect, prompting Hartley to let Len closer than any human or creature outside of the Rogues. He'd been abandoned by his parents in the shell when it was discovered he would be sterile. Len suspects that even if he wasn't, his preference for male dragons would have send his sire, at the very least, flying for the hills.

Len had been nineteen, and Shawna had recently reached maturity, leaving him free to be assigned to another hatchling. West's choice for him was waiting for him when he returned from that hunt with Mick and Lisa; said choice became the ever so sweet Patty Spivot. Obviously Len ended up finding Hartley instead.

That egg had looked like a cracked serrated rock, far too small and fragile. It was only thanks to Lisa and Mick's noses they figured it out. The hatchling inside must have been half-gone without their dam's warm body for incubation; Len wrapped the egg in his parka and, knowing his own body ran cold, placed himself and his new charge—because he knew he was handling this one if they survived—between Lisa and Mick.

Hartley had hatched that very night. At least he tried; he'd been too weak to break his shell on his own. Len helped him along, carefully knocking away the parts Hartley couldn't get to crack. In about eight minutes, a tiny ebony hatchling with dark green horizontal markings was gasping for breath in Len's parka.

Mick kept both of them warm while Lisa stripped venison into small pieces.

"Do you have a name?" Len asked.

Hartley wheezed, "Rathaway. Hartley...Hartley Rathaway. Where—parents?"

Len looked at Mick. The dragon rumbled for him, "They were long gone when we found you, kid."

Hartley didn't talk after that—when he did, it was only to cajole Lisa into actually  _cooking_ that meat, he wasn't an  _animal_. 

He's still far smaller than the average thirty to fifty feet for dragons, coming short at a mere fifteen. Still, he's easily one of the most intelligent dragons Len's ever met; sometimes Len can't believe that brain was almost lost to ignorant stupidity.

"You think way too loud," Hartley grouses.

"Would you rather talk about the weather?" Len drawls back.

Hartley rolls his eyes. Then, with a subtle measure of timidity that's only apparent to those who know him well, "So what's it like, having a permanent harness?"

Len raises an eyebrow. "Can't complain, I suppose. Barry's a..." he tilts his head, searching for the right words. He finds that there aren't any, so he settles for, "he's a rare breed."

"Obviously," Hartley scoffs, "but what's it  _like_?"

"Jealous, Rathaway?"

"It's called scientific curiosity, you dick."

Len shrugs a shoulder, "Not much to say. It's not like we formed any mental bond."

Hartley doesn't seem surprised, since those are extremely rare. "And are you going to handle any other dragons?"

"Didn't realize that was an option."

"Mick didn't have a problem, and you guys actually formed something."

He doesn't actually mean to reopen an old wound, Len knows. Doesn't stop Len to cast a reflexive look around the docks as he says, "Mick and I had a— _special_ relationship."

"You don't share that with Barry?" Hartley sounds genuinely surprised. Len tosses his head up to scowl at him. "What? It's a legitimate question."

"No, Hartley," Len sighs, "Barry and I have a platonic bond."

"Mhm."

 _Dragons_. Doesn't matter what kind; they're all notorious gossips. Kinda reminds Len of biddies in a beauty shop.

Of course the delivery arrives twenty minutes late. Hartley's heated up with sonic vibrations by the time it's reached the docks, repelling Len from his side. After everything's signed and cleared, Len straps the medium-sized crate to Hartley's back.

Hartley turns to him as he steps away. "You not coming?"

"Got something to do in the city," Len replies, "I still got fifty-five minutes."

"Crime?"

"For once, no." Hartley looks at him with amused disbelief. "I'm flattered that's what you think I'm doing every time I'm alone."

"That  _is_ what you do every time you're alone."

True. "Making an exception, Piper. Enjoy your new toys."

The dragon grunts—the only form of thanks Len's gonna get—and takes to the air.

Once he's alone, Len turns on his heel and makes for the city proper. Time to not commit crime.

* * *

So he swipes a Milky Way; the line was too fucking long.

But it's hardly his usual MO, meaning it doesn't count.

It's the bundle he's hiding in his parka that counts, and he  _bought_ it, thank you. Barry'd bitch at him if he didn't—always does, especially when it comes to gifts. Yes, he got Barry something. No, he's not telling anyone.

And oh, yes, that's a gun against his back.

Len doesn't stop walking, since neither does his assailant. Lewis steps up to his side without pause, gun moving to press against Len's ribs through the parka.

"Hello, son," he mumbles. The noise of the city is drowned under his voice; Len hates that Lewis still has that power over him. "I trust we won't be having interruptions."

Len raises a quiet shield in his bond with Lisa. The sensation is unnatural and just this side of painful; he keeps his expression carefully blank.

"No," he replies, matching Lewis' volume, "not yet." The gun presses harder against him. "I have a permanent harness,  _Dad_. He'll be storming into Central looking for me in twenty-one minutes."

"You mean that tiny thing you call a dragon?" Lewis sneers, "Like I said: no interruptions. Get in the car."

He indicates a sleek black sedan. How very original.

Len climbs into the passenger seat, keeping his movements casual. Lisa will notice the shield in less than five minutes; Len can't get an exact fix, since it varies every time, but it's usually under five minutes. Something so constant in the back of your mind is easy to miss when it's gone, but the moment you notice it is, it's like a gaping hole.

Lewis sets the gun down, knowing his son won't move. Knowing he's too paralyzed to try for escape. Len swallows bile and buckles himself in.

"What do you want?" he asks as they start driving into the street. Traffic's not too bad today; they'll make good time, wherever they're going.

"Now, now, no need to be so defensive. I taught you better than that."

Loathing spikes hot in Len's gut; his heart's pounding at the mere thought of his dear old dad's lessons. For that, he spits, "You always want something."

Low in warning, Lewis growls, "I said I taught you better."

Len clenches his teeth. " _Yes sir_."

"Good. But you're right," Lewis grins, "I do want something. You're gonna get it for me, of course."

Of course. Because Lewis knows he can't get  _shit_ on his own. "What is it?"

"A dragon egg."

Len stiffens in alarm. " _What_?"

"You heard me, Leo. You're getting me a dragon egg."

Lisa's starting to knock at the shield. She'll start looking for weak spots in ten seconds. Nine.

" _No_."

Eight.

Lewis turns a corner. "Is that right?" Seven.

"You do your worst," Len hisses, "you're not getting a dragon egg."

Six.

"That your final answer?" Five.

" _Yes_."

Four.

"Shame."

Three.

A flash of silver—two— _pain, burning, encompassing_ —one—

Lisa jabs at the shield. She doesn't have to; Len can't keep it up when his entire body is on fire. It is on fire. He can see the flames eating at his skin, his intestines, his bones...

As it attacks his brain, he hears a monster snarl in his ear: "Get me a dragon egg."

* * *

Len wakes to brilliant gold and freckles. A calloused hand slaps his cheek.

"Snart? Snart!" calls a faint voice, " _Len_! Hey!"

The hand is replaced by the cool familiarity of his sister's touch. "Lenny? Lenny, open your eyes!"

Len tries to tell her his eyes are sewn shut, that he can't open them all the way. What comes out is a weak croak.

"He's responsive." Sara. That's Sara—best friend, sister's rider. She's safe. "That's the best we can hope for right now. We have to get him back to the fort. Lisa. Lisa! Do you understand?"

The world blackens on his sister's muddled reply.

* * *

The next Len wakes, chapped lips are covering his own and breathing rich oxygen into his lungs. Len rolls his head away, coughing and coughing and—"Here it comes"—hot poison spurts from his mouth, smoothing the way for something thick and slithering. Whatever it is hisses as it leaves Len's mouth.

A desperate cry. _Barry_. What's wrong with Barry? Something's happening to him.

"Barry's right here," comes Shawna's clinical tones, "he's just worried for you. You were injected with a crimson drake."

That should mean something, but all Len can register is Barry's keening. He needs _help_ , can't they hear—?

"He's burning up again." Mick. Mick can help. "Lenny, nothin's wrong with the kid. Shut up and stay still!"

"We need to cauterize the wound." ...Caitlin? "I'm sorry, but there's no other way with drakes." Yeah. Caitlin.

"She's right," Shawna says, "Ray, Kendra, hold down his torso. Clyde and Mark will get his legs." Iron weight clamps on him. Len lets out a strangled noise, to which various trills answer. "Iris, keep Barry restrained!"

"I'm trying! Barry, please—"

"Mick, do it now!"

" _Shit_. Sorry, Snart."

More fire, worse than before. Len can't move away from it, can't defend himself, can't—can't—he needs— _Barry_ —

_LEN!_

"Holy shit!"

Len's mind explodes into crackling strikes, shocking ever brain cell. His screams tear through his throat like that knife, _Lewis'_ knife—

Unspeakable rage. The iron disappears in a volley of shouts.

 _He won't hurt you anymore. He_ won't _._  

Something warm, not burning, covers him. Another trill reaches Len's feverish ears, this one pressed against the pulse point in his throat.

 _I won't let him_.

Len blindly scrambles for purchase on that warmth. He wants to bury himself in it.

"Did he just—?"

"He  _phased through her_ —"

"Like a fuckin' ghost—"

"Never mind that, what about—?"

"Quiet!" Barry. That, Len knows, is Barry. Blissful silence follows him too. Softer, "Len needs quiet."

Len makes a small relieved sound.

Finally, Caitlin ventures to speak: "What are we going to do about...?"

The silence thickens. About what?

 _Your dad._ Len never thought Barry capable of so much venom.  _I caught up with him. Hartley carried him back._

Dad...memory surges. Dad—that means—Lisa—

_Lisa's safe. Didn't you hear her?_

Len prods his bond with weak fingers. Lisa replies instantly, physically touching his arm as well.

"Barry, sweetheart," she whispers, sounding hoarse. Lisey? "Move over, would you?"

As soon as he feels her settle in front of him, Len peels his eyes open as far as the seams will allow. A blurry image of his baby sister appears. With her help, he pushes onto his side and curls against her the same way they did in their shell.

Only this time, Barry's plastered to his back from head to toe.

Safe.

The world blackens again.

* * *

Of course the first thing Len croaks when he wakes is, "Lewis caught me. What happened after?"

Lisa at least looks exasperated. But she's also clearly exhausted; behind her, Sara's knocked out in a desk chair.

"Nice to see you too, Lenny," she murmurs back, gently butting him with her horns.

Barry starts awake. Len sucks in a breath as he  _feels_ Barry's mind snap awake with him. What the fuck—

"Len!" his dragon shifts in a bolt, crawling over Len's arm and stuffing himself between his handler and Lisa. "Len, you're awake! You're okay!"

Len grumbles, "Yeah, Barry. Peachy."

Lisa finally answers his question while watching with no small amusement as Barry scrambles under Len's shirt and snuggles against the scars. It's a clean shirt. Clean pants. Not his quarters.

She explains, "Med bay. Once I felt the drake enter your system, I snatched Sara onto my back. By the time we got to you, you were—" her eyes flicker down to Barry's head, which is now pressing against the underside of Len's chin, "well. You weren't in good shape, Lenny. The drake was taking over your system. We were halfway there when it tried to—make you take something. At least we think it was."

Len replies to the unspoken question, "Dear old dad wanted me to get him a dragon egg. I said no."

Barry's concern-affection-protective- _violence_ spikes. Len's hand reflexively starts petting the tiny head. Lisa sees the motion, but she doesn't comment yet.

"Sara held you off," she continues, pride sparkling in her face for a moment on her rider's behalf, "and we landed in the fort just in time to catch Barry. As soon as we said Lewis had come after you, he flew off."

"And Hartley carried Lewis," Len mutters, "is he really here?"

"How did you know that part?"

Len looks towards the lump under his shirt. "I think Barry gave us a bond."

Lisa's eyebrows raise. "That explains why our bond feels stretched. You've got another dragon's consciousness attached." Len hums. "How deep is it?"

Len concentrates as much as his pounding head will allow. Barry's emotions feel like his own, and there's a buzzing of thoughts when Len digs. There's also a kind of—Len can't describe it, but there's a new aspect of Barry's physical presence, like a stamp in Len's head. He's almost certain that, if Barry left the room, Len would know exactly where he would be.

"Deep," he says.

Lisa nods. After a moment, she pastes on a smile, "Well, big brother. Your dragons have had our dear father for two days." Two  _days_? (worryworryworry-affection-more  _violence_ ) "You should've seen their faces. As soon as you were stable, they checked on you and then Lewis went missing."

Len rolls his eyes. Fuck's sake. "Did West do anything?"

"They pretended they had no idea what happened to Lewis. We're—" she obviously means  _West and co.,_ "—hoping you'll be able to get them to confess."

Len's not sure why she and Barry protest, then, when he wraps his arms around Barry and swings to his feet.

"Len!" Barry squeals, "Len, you shouldn't be up yet!"

"Quiet, Barry," Len says, "I wanna see if my old man's still alive."

* * *

He is.

Almost.

He's...well, he's breathing, at least. Shallowly, but, definitely breathing.

As soon as Len strides outside, a reluctant Barry perched on his shoulder and his sister and her rider next to him, Ray had reached them first. The rest of Len's dragons followed. Thankfully they'd had the foresight to shift, or Len might've been stampeded to death under the barrage of embraces and touches and various forms of dragons' aggressive affection. Barry'd hissed in vain.

Axel nuzzled at his cheek and said, "We got you a present!"

"Did you now?" Len drawled, "Wouldn't happen to be a stupid old man?"

Kendra's eyes had been glowing an angry red. "How'd you guess?"

After Len calmed her down, he let her fly him to where they were keeping Lewis. She looked contrite the entire time.

No wonder, when Len saw him.

Which brings us to the present: when Len is carefully put onto the ground and presented his father. Lisa is gaping right next to him.

The man is pinned by sharpened ends of his own leg bones. The shredded stumps left behind are definitely infected and crawling with flies. That's not nearly the worst of it, but it's best not to get into details about that.

Let's just say he's breathing and leave it at that.

If Len were a good person, he'd start yelling. He'd berate these dragons. He'd insist getting Lewis medical attention, even if the odds of him surviving are slim to none.

But Len is not a good person.

"All of you," he says. They stiffen. "Get over here."

He embraces every single one of them. Lisa wraps them all in her talons and wings. Barry, carefully keeping his eyes from Lewis—the bloodlust that hits him scares both himself and Len—happily basks in Len's startled relief.

"You impulsive bastards," Len says, "how is he still alive?"

Shawna replies, "We kept him that way for you. And Lisa," she hastily adds.

"So we could what?" Lisa says, "Kill him ourselves?"

Mick shrugs, "If you want."

Len is definitely not a good person.

He smirks at Lisa. "Sis. He broke your heart first. The honors should be yours."

Lisa smirks back. "Nonsense, Lenny. Let's do it together."

It's also best not to get into details about  _that_ , either.

* * *

Barry's human form tucks Len under his chin when the elder Snart is finally badgered back into bed after his...excitement. Len, draped under his manifested wing, is trying his best not to fall asleep.

_You can be such a child, y'know that?_

_Shut up, Barry._

Aloud, Len mumbles, "What about the drake?"

"Cisco took it," Barry replies, sharpening his fingernails into talons to scratch lightly at Len's back, "he wants to do experiments."

There's an inquiry in their bond. (Their  _bond_. Len never thought...not since Mick.)

Len sighs through his nose, "What is it, Barry?"

"It's just...you spat  _poison_. Like it was nothing."

Len smirks, "I was born with a Poison, Barry. Just because I was born human doesn't mean I don't have dragon DNA."

"What? Really? But you have magic already."

"The poison I have isn't magic. It's biology. I have poison in my saliva."

Barry recoils. He repeats with more feeling, " _What_?! But Mick—"

"Mick's fire burns through it. Your metabolism wouldn't have a problem either." How he doesn't know that already, Len hasn't a clue; Barry's swiped enough of his fries by now, and some of those had bites taken outta them.

Barry still sighs, "Oh thank God."

 _Dragons_.

"But there was...like, a lot of poison."

Fuck it. Len will admit he's too tired for this shit. "My body was tryin' to burn the drake out. Couldn't be frozen; drakes can stand that. How'd the thing look?"

"Uh...well, it kinda...sizzled?"

"Poison ate through it then. Like a disease. Can I sleep now, Detective?"

Barry butts his head. "I was just—"

Hartley's words come back to Len. "Curious?"

"Well  _yeah_! My rider has  _poison_ in his  _saliva_!"

"Mm, pretty cool, isn't it?"

Barry snorts. "Go to sleep."

_Now who's being a child?_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Probably the most angst and gore that'll be in this series tbh. :D hope you liked it!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
